


my love is a stone wall

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, M/M, Massage, Misunderstandings, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: Jaskier propped his crossed arms up on the stall door and rested his chin there. He watched Geralt for a while, and Geralt watched his horse.“That’s not who we are,” Jaskier said gently. A glance showed his eyes to be red-rimmed, and his voice was hoarse. “We’re so much more than that.”“You want things to stay the same.”Jaskier sighed. “Isn’t that a good thing? We work, Geralt. Let’s not make it messy.”~*~Geralt accidentally gifts Jaskier a horse, which reveals some feelings that Geralt has been hiding from and causes some heartbreaking misunderstandings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 139
Kudos: 812
Collections: wiedźmin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what happened here, all I wanted was for Geralt to give Jaskier a horse, and suddenly all these feelings were happening.

It was only a matter of convenience, of happenstance. What need did he have for another horse, after all?

“Please, I have no coin for you, but I have a gelding that would bring you a goodly amount were you to sell him in a town larger than this one,” the farmer had entreated, and Geralt, unable to resist a heartfelt plea and a rescue mission, accepted the terms.

So Geralt had gone up the mountain to battle the creature that had swept up the farmer’s little daughter and carried her away to an uncertain fate. He knew there was a slim chance that he’d find her alive, but he searched tirelessly in case she was, and his efforts were rewarded when he found her in a cave, battered and barely alive among the bones of sheep and cattle previously devoured. The wyvern was easy enough to dispatch when it returned to the cave, and Roach picked her way carefully down the mountain again while Geralt held the girl in his arms, wrapped in his cloak.

He had no talent for comfort, but as the girl shook and cried Geralt did his best to hum one of Jaskier’s tunes to her until she quieted. He’d never tell Jaskier, of course.

The farmer wept and the town healer gave a reassuring smile, and Geralt knew the girl would be alright. He accepted the reins of the gelding and nodded at the farmer, then continued down the road. Jaskier was waiting for him at the next town, unless he’d grown weary of waiting past their planned meeting time and moved on. 

Roach looked askance at the gelding at first, but eventually accepted his presence as he placidly trailed behind her. He was dappled gray with a white mane and tail, clearly well cared for, still on his first legs with a sound gait. Geralt wondered how much he would get for him, if indeed there was someone in the next town willing to buy. Certainly more than the contract would have called for, but what price would a man not pay to have his child returned to him?

Jaskier lifted a hand in greeting from the upper window of the inn when Geralt finally arrived, and Geralt was irrationally relieved to see he hadn’t moved on. “Who’s your new friend?” Jaskier called down, leaning out the window with a grin.

Geralt didn’t reply as he swung a leg over and dismounted from Roach in the courtyard. Jaskier appeared at his side, his shining eyes appraising the gelding. He lifted a hand and the horse dropped its muzzle into his palm, lipping at it as though looking for treats. Jaskier smiled and huffed a little laugh, stroking down the curve of the horse’s sleek dappled neck.

“He’s gorgeous,” Jaskier said, and the horse butted him gently in the shoulder.

“He’s yours,” Geralt heard himself say. He’d meant to say, “He was payment.” Or he might have said, “I’ll trade him for coin,” but the words just fell out of his mouth without thought.

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he looked between Geralt and the horse and back again. “Are you serious?”

Geralt nodded, because once he’d said it he couldn’t take it back. He realized he didn’t want to, because Jaskier lit up like a sunrise and laid a hand on the flat of the horse’s cheek, his fingers curling gentle and possessive.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice choked around his smile. He moved toward Geralt, who had the uncomfortable sense that he was about to be embraced. Jaskier pulled back at the last moment and touched Geralt’s arm instead. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, serious in a way he rarely was.

“This way you can finally keep up,” Geralt said gruffly, and handed Jaskier the reins.

Jaskier hugged the horse’s neck and sniffled. “He must have cost a fortune. I’ll pay you back, of course, though it will take a while.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s a gift.” It looked as though Jaskier might try to hug him again, so Geralt turned away to lead Roach to the stable. The gelding automatically followed, and Jaskier jumped out of the way to avoid being stepped on. Together they negotiated with the stable hand and led the horses into empty stalls.

“Do you need help?” Geralt asked, glancing at Jaskier as he removed Roach’s tack.

“I know what I'm doing,” Jaskier told him confidently, and began to unbuckle the gelding’s saddle without hesitation.

Geralt had to admit that Jaskier was doing fine on his own. Riding presented a whole different set of challenges, but he’d worry about that in the morning. In the meantime he was starving and tired and looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.

“Does he have a name?”

Geralt shook his head and put away Roach’s supplies. “The farmer didn’t say.”

“Farmer? How did you come by this horse, anyway?”

“Payment for a contract,” was all Geralt replied.

“Did I miss an epic battle worthy of the immortality of song?”

Geralt thought of the little girl’s tear-streaked and bloodied face, pale inside the folds of his cloak, of the farmer’s desperate pleas, of the dead wyvern splayed out on the hill. “No,” he said, holding it close inside his chest a while longer.

“That’s a shame,” Jaskier sighed, then peered over the divider between their stalls. “Can I borrow your curry comb?”

Jaskier lingered behind in the stable, meticulously brushing the gelding until he shone in the lamplight. Geralt took his room key and left him there, continuing on with his evening. He enjoyed a reasonably good stew and an ale that wasn’t the worst he’d ever had, and the innkeeper stared hard at his white hair and yellow eyes but served him well enough anyway.

Jaskier’s room was a whirlwind of vibrant clothes and paper strewn about, with several worn quills and an ink bottle on the table that Jaskier had clearly been using as a desk. Geralt observed the chaos with a strange sense of familiarity gnawing at him. He gathered up the clothes that Jaskier had left on the bed and shifted them to a chair, and a perfumed cloud followed them, the dusty-sweet scent of chamomile and costly vanilla that was as much a signature of Jaskier himself as was his singing.

He was seated on the bed sharpening his sword when Jaskier came through the door, smiling and carrying with him the smell of the stable along with his own sweetness.

“He’s a darling, Geralt. I can already tell he has a heart of gold, and I simply adore him. Thank you.” Jaskier washed his hands in the basin in the corner of the room, still smiling like a loon. He began to take off his boots beside the bed, leaning unwisely close to Geralt’s sword.

“Jaskier,” said Geralt, “have you forgotten dinner?”

Jaskier paused and blinked, then laughed. Without a word he pulled his boots back on and breezed out of the room. Geralt shook his head and went back to his sword.

He listened as he worked, the methodical motions of his hands lulling him, and he tracked Jaskier’s voice downstairs instinctively, as he would a creature in the wood. He heard his jovial conversation with the innkeeper, as easy as if they were old friends. Geralt wondered how many days Jaskier had waited for him here, and felt guilty that he’d made him wait, but pleased that he’d stayed anyway. Geralt heard when Jaskier’s tone shifted as he made conversation with a young woman, a seamstress, over his very fine doublet. He heard when that tone changed into something slightly deeper, more dulcet than his usual voice. He heard the woman respond in kind.

Geralt put his sword away and washed his hands, preparing for bed. He stripped down to his smallclothes, the summer warmth of the room precluding a need for anything else. As he settled into bed, expecting to be sleeping alone that night, he heard Jaskier suddenly clear his throat and begin to sing a jaunty tune, projecting his voice to be heard throughout the public room. A glance around their little room told Geralt that Jaskier had left his lute behind, and as he put his head down on the mostly flat pillow he listened to Jaskier’s voice ring out clear as a bell, unaccompanied and free.

Somewhat later he was awakened by Jaskier creeping into the room. He rolled on his side and shuffled backward, silently making room while Jaskier removed his clothes. The moonlight through the window was dim but sufficient for Geralt’s eyes to see the color high in Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Sorry, I tried not to wake you,” Jaskier whispered, tossing his shirt off to one side.

“You’ll never be quiet enough not to wake me.”

Jaskier slid into bed and tugged up the light blanket around both of them. They settled in, falling back easily into their old familiarity with one another, despite months spent apart at opposite ends of the continent.

“Just a kiss this time? You’re losing your touch,” Geralt said after taking a breath of him. Sweetness and sweat and ale and the dizzying sharp scent of excitement from performing, as well as a faint trace of someone else’s mouth.

Jaskier grinned and shook his head, his smooth hair dragging against the pillow. “I’ll never understand how you can know these things just by sniffing. Yes, only a kiss. But I bid her goodnight, not the other way around.”

“Not to your taste, then?”

“My heart wasn’t in it,” he replied softly. “I do hate to string a lady along. I suspect she was married anyway.”

“Such a thing has never stopped you before.”

“Call it a newfound sense of maturity, I suppose.” He gazed at Geralt unblinkingly, in his eyes a mystery that Geralt could not decipher.

Geralt took another breath and realized that for all the scent of Jaskier permeating the entire room, there was nothing that suggested anyone else had been there. “I’ll reserve my judgment on that,” he said dryly, wondering privately if something had happened in the intervening months since he’d last seen Jaskier. Perhaps he’d loved and lost again, as happened at least once a year.

“Should I have spent the evening here with you instead?” Jaskier asked, and it sounded as though it was a question in earnest. “Did I neglect you?”

Geralt nearly said ‘yes,’ but bit his tongue on the word, because it was foolish. “I’m certain we’ll see more than enough of each other from now on. Unless you have other travelling plans?”

Jaskier shook his head quickly. “Not at all, my dear Witcher. I’m all yours.”

The breath caught in Geralt’s throat and he rolled his eyes to cover his surprising reaction. Jaskier was prone to effusive declarations around Geralt, and had always been.

Jaskier grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “So tell me, what have I missed these many months? Any great and daring feats of monster fighting prowess that I need to know about?”

“Save something for the travelling, bard. Go to sleep.”

“Yes! I have a new horse to break in tomorrow, I nearly forgot. Imagine how much further we’ll be able to travel, the two of us and our noble steeds. Together we can even forge new paths should we choose to, we can--”

“Jaskier. Go the fuck to sleep.” Geralt poked Jaskier in the forehead, making him chuckle. The sound was low, dulcet, and Geralt soaked in the musicality of it.

“I’ll hold my tongue until tomorrow,” Jaskier conceded, “but expect to give me a full report once we’re on the road.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“Of course not. Equal partners.” Jaskier winked at him and then nestled into their shared pillow, immediately heading toward sleep.

Geralt knew that by morning it would be Jaskier’s pillow, but he could never find it in himself to hold it against him. Jaskier was always less annoying after a good night on a real bed with a real pillow. Taking one more deep breath, filling his lungs with chamomile and vanilla, Geralt closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

~*~

Geralt had to admit that Jaskier had a pretty good grasp of how to tack up a horse. He checked to make sure the girth was tight enough around the gelding’s belly, and it was. His bridle was likewise put on correctly, none of the leather straps twisted or in the wrong place.

“Not bad,” Geralt said, watching as Jaskier tied his bedroll and bags to the gelding’s saddle.

Jaskier rolled his eyes but his cheeks still flushed at the faint praise. “I told you, I know how to do this.”

The dawn sky was still brightening in the east, and Jaskier was much more eager to greet the day than he usually was. He was not a morning person by nature, but with the prospect of a new horse Jaskier was chipper and confident. Geralt was pleased, if a little apprehensive about the next part.

He locked his fingers and gave Jaskier a leg up, and he settled in the saddle much more gently than Geralt had expected. Jaskier took the reins from Geralt and gathered them to just the right tension on the gelding’s mouth.

“Don’t forget to keep your heels down,” he advised, reaching for Jaskier’s boot only to find that his heels were in fact already pointed down. “Hmm.”

Jaskier grinned and winked at him, shifting his weight slightly in the saddle and taking the gelding around in a tight circle, already pointing toward the road. The gelding stamped his feet, ready to go, and Jaskier quieted him with a hand on his neck. Geralt blinked.

“There are many ways in which I loathe my upbringing, but one of the few bright spots was the stable at my home in Lettenhove. I’ve been riding since I was very small.”

“You never said. Why didn’t you say?”

“What was the point? It took ages before you were comfortable with me even touching Roach, and I could never afford my own horse.”

Jaskier looked so tall suddenly, towering over where Geralt stood beside him. His eyes were twinkling and Geralt just stared up at him for a minute, trying to adjust to this new world where Jaskier could be adept at something more than just music. Eventually he gave a mental shrug and took Roach’s reins as he mounted up. If Jaskier was ready to ride without instruction then they would just be able to leave earlier than Geralt had expected. He brought Roach alongside the gelding and Jaskier smiled at him, excitement plain on his face.

“I still take lead,” Geralt said gruffly, to cover his own discomfiture at having Jaskier beside him instead of below him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said graciously, drawing the gelding back a few steps, demonstrating that he’d still be content that way. “He feels like a follower rather than a leader, anyway.”

Geralt nodded and nudged Roach in the direction of the road. Together he and Jaskier left the courtyard of the inn and headed to the east, into the rising sun.

“You know, you won’t be able to play your lute while you ride,” he pointed out, anticipating pleasantly quiet travels.

“You definitely underestimate my abilities, Geralt,” Jaskier replied, grinning as he twisted in the saddle to pat his lute where the case was strapped within easy reach. “And there is nothing to stop me singing, in the event that I can’t play. You’ll not be going without music, don’t worry.”

“Oh, what joy is mine,” Geralt said flatly, and Jaskier laughed.

~*~

The thing of it was, Geralt mused as they rode, he had asked for this. He’d signed up for it when he had last parted from Jaskier in late spring so that Jaskier could follow the path of the festivals and bardic competitions. When Jaskier suggested they choose a meeting place and time so that they might travel together again, Geralt had answered immediately without asking himself if he truly wanted to meet up with Jaskier on purpose, instead of randomly crossing paths with him as they always had before. Sometimes months would go by, on the rare occasion more than a year, before they found each other again, which meant that Geralt didn’t have to call it a choice, their travelling together.

But this time was different, and Geralt tried to shy away from looking at the thing head-on, the same as he had been doing since he’d answered yes and named the place. The memory of Jaskier’s brilliant smile had stayed in his mind, Jaskier’s infectious joy and satisfaction that Geralt had agreed. And as they travelled now he was faced with the truth that as much as he was and forever would be irritated by Jaskier’s constant chatter, he also had missed it in his life.

“--and that was when the royal guard found us in the kitchen larder, half naked and covered in flour. I’ve never run so fast in my entire life, and that includes the time you left me behind as bait to be chased by that warg--don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true--and I had to hide in the gatehouse with a sympathetic guard. And he was _extremely sympathetic_ , if you know what I mean--”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” He didn’t even sound winded, despite having gone a very long time between breaths. Geralt was counting, as a method of coping with the noise.

“I only asked if you’d won any competitions.”

“Oh! Well then yes, I won three. The other one was taken by an unworthy pretender.”

Geralt frowned. “How could someone _pretend_ to be a bard and win a competition?”

Jaskier’s chin tipped up in a haughty fashion. “He used my songs. He won by singing my own original compositions. There was no clause that stated that he couldn’t use the work of others.”

“Ah. Well...better luck next time.”

“Better luck--Geralt, my reputation has been materially damaged by this. I’ll have to work twice as hard to combat it, perform more, compose greater pieces. It’s exhausting having the greatest voice in the continent. There’s so much pressure.”

Geralt fought down a smile. “If you have the greatest voice, how did someone else outsing you?”

Jaskier gave him a quick sideways look, then sighed. “I had a cold. I was not at the top of my game, but the judges didn’t care. They were also indifferent about the filching of my compositions.”

It sounded to Geralt as though the judges were likely correct in their decisions, but he wasn’t about to say that to Jaskier. He just hummed in a way that could be taken as sympathetic, and angled Roach off the road and under a large oak tree, finding pleasant shade from the sun.

“Everything alright?” Jaskier asked, urging the gelding to follow.

“We should stop for lunch,” Geralt replied, dismounting and pulling bread and hard cheese from his saddlebag. He turned to hand them to Jaskier and watched in amusement as the bard slowly and stiffly slid off the gelding and landed a bit awkwardly.

“Not a word,” said Jaskier, waving a hand in Geralt’s direction and limping over to lean against the tree trunk. “It’s been a long time since I was on a horse.”

“Hmm.” He gave the food to Jaskier and turned back to Roach, his lips twitching.

“I told you not to say anything.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, Geralt, you forget that I am fluent in all your hums. I can always tell what you’re saying when you say nothing at all.”

Geralt took his waterskin and filled a bowl for Roach. It was sometimes disconcerting that Jaskier knew him as well as he did, though it was unsurprising. They’d known each other for years, after all. In fact he couldn’t think of another soul besides Roach who knew him better.

“Save some of that food for me,” Geralt warned, automatically filling the bowl again for the gelding.

“What do you take me for, a mooch? And also thank you, for watering my horse.”

Geralt shrugged. “I don’t mind. He’s quiet and obedient, doesn’t cause a fuss. I like him already.”

“I think there’s an insult in there somewhere, directed at me, I’m just having trouble finding it…”

“Try a little harder, you’ll get there.”

Jaskier lobbed a piece of bread at him and Geralt caught it easily. “Remind me again why I chose you as my muse.”

“I ask myself that every day.”

“Really though,” Jaskier continued, ignoring Geralt, “I didn’t choose you, so much as Destiny chose you for me. I was merely nudged in your direction by her meddlesome hand, and once I’d seen your brooding visage in that tavern my heart was irrevocably taken.”

Geralt felt a flush creeping up his neck and he turned away from Jaskier’s dramatically adoring expression. He fiddled in his saddlebag for nothing at all until he had himself under control once again.

“O Muse,” Jaskier called, “are you going to eat any of this?”

He held out the bread in one hand and the cheese in the other, and Geralt sat down on a tree stump to eat. It wasn’t hearty fare, but it would see them through to dinner. They would be making camp under the stars, and Geralt would no doubt be doing the lion’s share of the work. Jaskier liked to provide what he called ‘helpful encouragement.’ Geralt would make him take care of the horses from now on, he decided.

Jaskier wandered off to heed the call of nature, and Geralt took the opportunity to look over the gelding again. He was a good natured creature with kind eyes, and the fact that Roach had accepted him so easily was remarkable, since Roach generally had no patience or fondness for other horses. Geralt ran his hand over the gelding’s soft white muzzle, glad that he had made a gift of him instead of selling him. He could have used the coin, but Jaskier’s smile once again flashed through his head, his unalloyed joy at having something of his own besides a lute and a bedroll.

Geralt was quite possibly in trouble.

“You can’t have him back,” Jaskier said warningly, joining him at the gelding’s side. He patted the horse’s cheek and his hand bumped into Geralt’s. He was standing altogether too close, enough so that the sweetness of his skin was nearly tangible in the summer air, and Geralt took a surreptitious breath of it.

“I would never,” Geralt said, and Jaskier turned to look at him, his cornflower blue eyes gleaming.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” Jaskier beamed at him, and Geralt looked away.

“We’re burning daylight,” he said gruffly, and laced his fingers for Jaskier to get a leg up.

Back on the road, Geralt watched Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, the easy sway of his hips with the gelding’s movements, the curl of his long fingers around the reins. Jaskier began to hum a tune that Geralt didn’t recognize and then sang snatches of half-formed lyrics, and Geralt let the sounds carry him forward, urging Roach’s walk to match the rhythm of the song.

Geralt was definitely in trouble.

~*~

“You never did tell me,” Jaskier said, leaning against a fallen log, his words formed loose and warm while they shared a skin of wine after dinner, “what you’ve been doing these last few months. Without me.”

Geralt, beside him, shrugged and stared at the fire. “The usual.”

“Your verbosity is stunning.”

“Monsters and money, Jaskier. What else would I have done?”

Jaskier flung out a hand expansively. “Did you get to see the world from a mountaintop? Did you swim in the ocean? Did you vanquish a beast so terrible it had no name? Did you fall in love?”

Geralt cleared his throat, the heat from the fire warming his cheeks uncomfortably. “None of those things. It was terribly dull work.”

Jaskier’s sigh was loud and heartfelt.

“Well, did _you_ do any of those things? Did you fall in love?” Geralt nudged him with his elbow and Jaskier sort of swayed with the motion. He swung back to lean gently on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I met no monsters, unless you count an angry husband or two--although one of those was definitely, almost not at all my fault. No mountains, but I did swim in the ocean once. And let me tell you, Geralt, that if you have never done such a thing you really must, especially in the nude. And I did...fall in love. I did.”

Geralt looked down at the dark head on his shoulder, his throat tight as he said, “I’m surprised you’re here with me then, if you’re in love.”

Jaskier laughed quietly. “It wasn’t requited. I am unmoored, wandering with half a heart. Nevertheless, I am here and it’s enough.”

“Enough,” Geralt repeated, and Jaskier nodded against him. _Enough_ , he thought. I am _enough._ He wondered why that sounded like meager leavings, instead of a reassurance.

“Do we have any more of that wine?” Jaskier asked softly, sitting up straight again.

Geralt’s shoulder was cold without his head there. “You don’t need any more, you’re too maudlin as it is.”

Jaskier turned to him with a half-grin. “My dear, I have not yet met the bottom of a wine glass I couldn’t sing my way out of. Give me that wine, and I’ll sing you a song.”

Geralt winced. “Is that an incentive?”

“You unkind troll,” Jaskier said, a real laugh spilling out. He swiped at the skin of wine and Geralt let him have it. It left his lips red and shining, and Geralt had a hard time looking away.

“‘Under the Cherry Tree,’” Geralt muttered. “Sing ‘Under the Cherry Tree.’”

Jaskier turned slowly to look at him, and he looked for a long time. Geralt stared at the fire and tried not to fidget. Eventually Jaskier leaned back and sang, his lute silent beside him, and Geralt could hear the soft rustling of the horses as they shifted nearby, and it was...enough.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, my new horse.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Jaskier, who had pulled up alongside Roach looking a bit worse for wear. They had gotten a late start to the day due to Jaskier’s reluctance to move from his bedroll, citing the stiffness in his muscles and the ache in his head from a smidge too much wine. Geralt had a little sympathy. He himself had slept only a few hours because his mind was unable to quiet down, despite doing his best not to dwell on ridiculous things that had nothing to do with him, like the sorry state of Jaskier’s heart.

“I’d truly like to know how you came to acquire him, as I sense there is a story there.”

Geralt sighed, knowing that Jaskier was like a dog with a bone when it came to pressing for information about his hunts. It was usually easier to just give in. Still, he was silent for a while, working through his words.

“I came across a farmer in a small town who told me of a winged monster that had been stealing livestock from the countryside. Mostly sheep and goats, but the day before it had come down from the mountain and carried away his little daughter while she was playing in the yard.”

“Gods above,” Jaskier breathed, his hands tightening on the reins. The gelding tossed his head and Jaskier relaxed them again.

“The farmer offered me his horse as payment. I told him I’d do it for free, but he insisted. I took Roach up the mountain and found the cave of a wyvern, and a little girl crying in a pile of bones.” Geralt hesitated at the memory. Jaskier was silent beside him. “I waited until the wyvern returned and slew it on the hill while the little girl screamed. I cleaned her wounds and wrapped her in my cloak and carried her down the mountain. She was as light as a bird.”

Jaskier turned his face away.

“Don’t make it a song,” Geralt said quietly.

“I won’t,” Jaskier replied, and nothing more was said about it.

At lunchtime, beside a stream that ran through the woods by the road, they lingered to let the horses have a rest and drink their fill. Jaskier took out his lute and worked on a new song, while Geralt tried to give the impression that it was an unwelcome intrusion on what would otherwise have been a peaceful moment.

“ _My heart still longs for what cannot be mine_ ,” Jaskier sang, his tone wistful. “ _My love is a stone wall I cannot climb_.”

Geralt thought about asking him to share the story behind his heartbreak, but he knew that if Jaskier wanted to talk about it then he would, regardless of whether or not Geralt wanted to hear it. “If you’re trying to make them cry, you’ll probably succeed. Don’t know if they’ll pay you for it though.”

“I’m not planning to perform this one.” Jaskier plucked a string on his lute and listened to the note, tuning it gently.”Some songs are a balm for my heart, for my ears alone.”

“And mine,” Geralt pointed out.

“Some of them aren’t for your ears, nor even for mine. I’ve written volumes I’ll never put to music.”

Geralt thought about that for a while, listening to Jaskier’s halting melody tugged from the lute one string at a time. He didn’t know how such a song could be a balm for the heart, but Jaskier seemed much lighter by the time he put his lute away.

“So, how many hours until we reach the next town?”

“About four,” Geralt answered, looking up through the canopy of trees to find the sun. “We’ll get there before dark.”

“Especially now that you’re not waiting on my slow feet. It’s nice to be able to keep up, even if it makes me as stiff as an old man.” Jaskier awkwardly stood up, wincing as he took his lute case over to the gelding to tie it to his pack.

“It won’t last,” Geralt reminded him. “Pain rarely does.”

Jaskier gave him a look over his shoulder. “I suppose you are speaking from a great deal of experience, so I should heed you.”

Geralt went over to get Roach, running his hand over her whiskered muzzle, which was wet from the stream. He glanced over at Jaskier, who was combing his fingers through his gelding’s mane. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“I think I’ll call him Pegasus.”

“Pegasus,” Geralt repeated flatly. “Seriously?”

“This from a man who named his horse after a fish. He looks like he just soared through a cloudy sky, don’t you think?”

Geralt bent at the stream to fill his waterskin, and drank from it to disguise his smile.

“Really, Geralt, I’m sure you’ll prefer Pegasus. Due to his heart of gold and his white mane, I almost named him Geralt.”

Geralt choked and dropped his waterskin in the stream. 

~*~

Jaskier could, in fact, play the lute while riding his horse.

~*~

“Oh, ye gods, just kill me now,” Jaskier moaned as he slid from the saddle that evening in the courtyard of the inn they had chosen. He moaned again when he hit the ground, and collapsed dramatically into Geralt’s surprised embrace. Geralt set him to rights and patted him on the shoulder, just a wee bit harder than necessary.

“If you think it’s bad today, wait until tomorrow,” he advised, ignoring Jaskier’s whimper. “That’s when the real soreness kicks in.”

The look Jaskier shot him was mutinous. Geralt just placidly led the horses to the stable while Jaskier limped after him.

“I don’t recall horseback riding being so torturous,” Jaskier said mournfully as he brushed down Pegasus a few minutes later.

“Sounds like it’s been too long since you rode.”

Jaskier raised one eyebrow and gave Geralt a distinctly amused look. “Not all that long, Geralt. Oh, you meant on a _horse_ ,” he said, grinning unrepentantly.

Geralt gritted his teeth and ignored him, focusing instead on brushing twigs out of Roach’s tail. There weren’t really any twigs.

“I do hope they have good food here. I would absolutely murder someone for a cottage pie. I’d settle for good ale though. I’ve hopes for both, to be honest, since this place looks like a fine enough establishment. Perhaps I’ll even get in a good performance tonight, if there’s a crowd for it.”

“I’m surprised you have the energy, given how much you’ve been complaining all day.”

Jaskier leaned over the partition between their stalls and stole Roach’s comb. “I am never too tired to perform, Geralt,” he replied firmly. “Besides, if I play we may get a free meal out of it, or even a room.”

They were not in fact offered either of those things for free in exchange for an evening’s entertainment, but when the innkeeper offered a free hot bath in their room Jaskier made an obscene noise and said, “Absolutely, yes to the bath. Yes, and bless you madam, I could kiss you.”

The innkeeper, a sturdy, plain woman who looked to be in her sixties, blushed becomingly and shooed them on their way after giving Jaskier a key.

Their room was well appointed, with a decently sized bed and a whole corner dedicated to a bathtub and other bathing essentials, as well as a clean looking rug on the floor. Whether or not there was a rug on the floor was a good indicator of how nice the establishment was. Today they were blessed with a rug, therefore Geralt knew that their money had not been wasted.

Jaskier trailed his fingertips longingly along the rim of the wooden bathtub, whispering, “Soon,” to it as though it was a lover impatiently waiting. Geralt didn’t bother to hide his snort of amusement.

“First food, then singing, then bath,” Geralt reminded him, dropping his bags by the bed and starting to unbuckle his armor. Jaskier abandoned his lustful gazing at the bathtub and came over to help.

“I don’t think you understand how much I want this bath,” he said earnestly, slipping a strap open and removing a bracer from Geralt’s forearm. “I feel as though I might die.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“I can barely walk.”

“Jaskier.”

“Oh, alright. Let me just change into something more befitting the greatest bard in the continent.” He left Geralt to his armor and pulled an outlandish purple ensemble from his bag, then shook out the creases. “Yes?” he asked, holding the doublet up against his chest and looking at Geralt.

“You paid money for that? On purpose?”

“Fuck off, you have no taste. I’m wearing it.”

“You were always going to wear it, I don’t know why you bothered asking me.”

Jaskier inclined his head. “That’s true. I suppose I just wanted you to approve.”

Geralt felt like an ass. “It’s...fine. My eyes have almost adjusted already,” he said awkwardly.

“That’s as good as an apology from you, I’ll take it,” Jaskier said with a grin.

He began to strip off his travel clothes and Geralt busied himself with double checking his potions, making sure there had been no leaks, making an inventory to determine which ones needed replacing, absolutely not thinking about how Jaskier was half dressed behind him. When Jaskier cleared his throat Geralt turned around, and his eyes were not as much assaulted by lurid purple as he’d expected. Somehow when it was on Jaskier the color looked more like a warm aubergine, which was not too bad. He was still going to stand out in the crowd like a peacock in a hen house, but that was true no matter what he was wearing.

Jaskier sat on the bed to pull on his nice boots, the ones he never wore on the road. Geralt watched the flop of his hair over his forehead, dark and shining, wanting to be swept out of his eyes. Geralt kept his hands to himself, but they twitched a little.

Outfit complete, Jaskier came right up to Geralt, into his space, and brushed some dust from his shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’ll change into something less road-worn,” he said with a faint pout, straightening the collar of Geralt’s shirt.

“No,” Geralt replied, but he mimicked Jaskier and straightened the collar of the aubergine doublet, though it was already perfectly straight. Jaskier’s eyes brightened and warmed, and his mouth quirked in a half-smile. Geralt tried not to look directly at it.

“Then let’s be off to our evening’s revelry.”

He held the door for Geralt as though he was ushering out a noble, which made Geralt snarl a little, and Jaskier laughed.

~*~

It was a packed house, they discovered when they arrived downstairs in the public room, quite a large space but without a stage, so Jaskier would have to roam around and play to each of the many tables as he moved. Geralt knew that this was Jaskier’s favorite kind of atmosphere, because he had the opportunity to read the entire room in turn, to make eye contact with each patron, to divine what songs they would want to hear next.

Geralt had spent too much time with Jaskier not to understand how he performed, though it made him uncomfortable, this knowledge. To know and to be known in return was an odd thing, a bright weight he carried that he was not made to bear.

Dinner was not cottage pie, but a hearty stew that satisfied Jaskier, who stole half of Geralt’s bread to sop up the juice but then nudged his plate over so that Geralt could finish his potatoes. It was a comfortable meal spent mostly in silence, as they listened to the people chatting at tables nearby. Despite Jaskier’s tendency to fill every moment with words, sometimes Jaskier inexplicably let silence fall between them. Geralt basked in those times when they happened. Jaskier’s body at rest was still an eloquent thing.

When Jaskier had finished his ale he winked at Geralt and picked up his lute, tuning it to his satisfaction. Then he was up and strolling, opening with a jaunty tune about a milkmaid that never failed to catch attention. He danced between the tables and conversations paused or hushed like a wave around the room, and only Geralt would be able to tell how stiff his gait was from riding, the tightness around his eyes that indicated discomfort.

When Jaskier had made the circuit of the room and returned to Geralt he’d gone through six songs that had taken the patrons on an emotional journey, tugging at hearts and bringing laughter. One of them had been a White Wolf song, and Geralt was surprised when Jaskier didn’t meet his eyes or draw attention to him even once. Geralt sat in anonymity in the shadows and drank his ale, and was content.

Geralt could see when Jaskier returned that his purse was heavy with coin, and he dropped it on the table in front of Geralt with a proud grin. Then abruptly he paused in the act of pulling his lute strap off his shoulder, looking at Geralt and biting his lip. He settled the lute across his chest once more.

“Good people,” Jaskier shouted, and the room quieted somewhat, “I must leave you with one last song, one that is dear to a friend of mine, and I hope will be dear to you.”

Jaskier played the opening chords of ‘Under the Cherry Tree’ and Geralt’s throat tightened. He wasn’t even sure why he enjoyed that particular song so much, it was just one of many that Jaskier had written during their time together. But there was something about the way Jaskier’s voice soared when he sang it that tugged at some part of Geralt that was too deep to name.

He nursed his ale to give his hands something to do, and followed Jaskier with his eyes as he turned once more around the room, bright as a jewel in the lamplight. It was a beautiful song beautifully performed, but he thought about Jaskier’s voice unaccompanied by the fire, and he thought he might prefer that, when it was for him alone.

When Jaskier was finished he thanked the crowd and pocketed what coins were handed to him, then returned to Geralt. His cheeks were flushed and Geralt could see the pulse beating in his throat. He wanted to press his nose beneath Jaskier’s ear and breathe in great lungfuls of sweat and sweetness. He looked down at his ale, which Jaskier stole from him and finished in one great swig.

Gasping to catch his breath, he grinned at Geralt, who was helpless to do anything but smile back.

“Let’s see about that bath now, shall we?” Jaskier headed straight as an arrow to the innkeeper, who was behind the bar, and crowed loudly with joy when she told him it was already waiting for him. He leaned over the bar to kiss her hand, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

The bath was still steaming when they entered their room, and Jaskier wasted no time stripping off every piece of clothing and climbing in with a heartfelt groan. Geralt continued his inventory of supplies from earlier, stealing glances at Jaskier as he did. His skin glistened as he came up from submerging his head, his hair slicked back revealing his face in a different shape, like its own kind of nakedness.

“Oh, Witcher,” Jaskier moaned, settling his head back against the rim and soaking in the heat, and he only ever called Geralt ‘Witcher’ now when he was truly relaxed and fond. “This is the pinnacle of sublimity.”

“Sometimes I think not even you know what you’re saying, with those high and mighty words.”

“For shame, you cut me to the quick.” He didn’t sound too pained, though. “Which of us studied the classical languages at Oxenfurt? Was it you? I can’t recall.”

Geralt huffed at him, trying to focus on his supplies. He was running low on several tinctures, but perhaps the apothecary would have them. This town had a decently sized population, and therefore a good market in which to find all manner of things they needed for their travels. He was badly in need of money, though. The sale of the gelding would have set him up for a long while, but he was still glad he’d given him to Jaskier. “I’m low on coin and supplies. I’ll go talk to the alderman in the morning, see about any contracts to be had.”

“Would you like any company?”

“I’m surprised you bothered to ask, rather than just following me.”

Jaskier shrugged and then winced, rolling tension out of his shoulder. “I just wanted to offer. Truly, I had in mind a lazier day, one of introspection and creativity, where I may compose in comfort.”

“You’re just too sore to join me.”

“I am definitely too sore to join you.”

Geralt cleared his throat, a dangerous idea whispering in his mind. “I could...never mind.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. “You could what?”

He couldn’t get out the words that were stuck in his throat, but now that he’d begun he couldn’t allow himself to stop, so he approached the bathtub and haltingly put his hand on Jaskier’s wet shoulder, curling around muscle and bone. Jaskier’s eyes widened and he blinked up at Geralt like a startled forest creature.

“Oh. Yes, if you please.” His voice didn’t sound perfectly steady.

Geralt pulled up a stool and sat behind him, cursing himself for a thousand kinds of fool, and laid his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. It wasn’t until he looked at his own hands spanning Jaskier’s back that he realized how defined his muscles were from playing his lute. Geralt pressed his thumbs to the sides of Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier let out a little moan that reverberated into Geralt’s hands on his skin.

He dug his fingers into muscle carefully, aware of his strength and Jaskier’s relative delicacy. His calloused hands dragged on Jaskier’s silky skin, and Geralt wondered if it was uncomfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, just continued kneading Jaskier’s shoulders with his rough and clumsy hands, lost in staring at the nape of Jaskier’s neck. His hair dripped water that slid down his spine, and Geralt wanted to lap it up, to see if it still carried Jaskier’s scent.

“You’re good at this,” Jaskier said quietly, his voice melting into that dulcet tone that had Geralt’s blood singing every time he heard it.

“Hmm. I only know what I like. I don’t get to do this for anyone else.”

“Believe me, Geralt, the bathhouse girls could learn something from you.”

“Are you really comparing me to a bathhouse girl?”

“It’s the hands, I think,” Jaskier said around a groan. “You have hands like bear paws.”

“So I’m a bear-like bathhouse girl.”

“In all the very best of ways, my dear.” He tilted his head to allow Geralt to apply himself to the join of his neck and shoulder. Geralt felt, suddenly, the fragility of Jaskier’s spine, how easily it could be broken, and it filled him with sudden fear. He eased his hold and stilled with his fingertips resting on Jaskier’s skin, ten points of contact burning him. It was in that moment that he finally realized how truly and deeply he _wanted_.

“Jaskier,” he said, and Jaskier looked up at him, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, lulled by heat. Geralt caught him by the chin and carefully kissed him, more carefully than anything he’d ever done in his life.

Jaskier made a noise in his throat, a cut off grunt of surprise, then let himself be kissed. His hand came up to touch Geralt’s chest where his shirt had fallen open, his fingers wet and wrinkled from the bath. For five heartbeats he returned Geralt’s kiss, molding his lips to Geralt’s and sinking into the embrace, then he gently pushed him back.

“Oh, Geralt,” he said, his voice trembling and his face crestfallen. “No.”

For a moment Geralt hovered, caught in a breath between kissing and not, then he jerked back as though slapped. Jaskier looked hunted, guilty, devastated.

“I’m so sorry. This just isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want?” Geralt heard himself ask, and discovered that he’d gotten to his feet and moved several feet away without realizing it.

Jaskier tilted his head helplessly, his hands white-knuckled on the edge of the bathtub. “Your dear friendship, your companionship. I can’t lose that over something so fleeting. You’re too important to me.”

Geralt nodded, turning away, thinking he should offer some kind of apology for the transgression but unable to coalesce his thoughts into the right words. His head spun as he reached for the doorknob instinctively. “I’ll be downstairs. If you should need me.”

He heard Jaskier say his name once, then the door clicked shut behind him with finality. At the bar he ordered a vodka, tossed it back, ordered another. His rolled-up shirtsleeves were still wet.

~*~

He was in Roach’s stall leaning against the partition between her and Pegasus, thinking rather uncharitably that it was still a ridiculous name, when Jaskier found him some time later. Geralt wasn't drunk, but he'd had just enough to feel it in his blood, a balm to the ache. Jaskier propped his crossed arms up on the stall door and rested his chin there. He watched Geralt for a while, and Geralt watched his horse.

“That’s not who we are,” Jaskier said gently. A glance showed his eyes to be red-rimmed, and his voice was hoarse. “We’re so much more than that.”

“You want things to stay the same.”

Jaskier sighed. “Isn’t that a good thing? We work, Geralt. Let’s not make it messy.”

_Messy._

He still could smell Jaskier’s sweetness, even through the stable air, even though he’d bathed. He still wanted to press his tongue to Jaskier’s skin, to learn the taste of his mouth. He still wanted to wrap his arms around that strong yet fragile human body, to feel Jaskier’s heart beating in the cage of his ribs.

_Messy._

“Alright,” he said. What other answer could he give?

Jaskier opened the stall door and held it for Geralt, who followed him back to their room. Geralt thought about stopping by the bar for another vodka, but knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

The bath sat cold and still, and Geralt dropped his clothes beside the bathtub and got in. He didn’t pay attention to what Jaskier was doing, just quietly bathed the grime of the road from his skin. He would have sat longer, could have warmed the water with Igni, but didn’t see the point. There was a towel on the stool beside the bathtub, so he dried off and dressed in his cleanest linen trousers. 

Jaskier was in bed, watching him solemnly as he approached. Geralt blew out the candle and lay down, and Jaskier pulled up the blanket. They looked at each other in the near-darkness, and it could have been any other night when they had shared a bed, facing each other on their sides, talking in hushed voices about where they’d been, where they were going.

“Would you prefer to travel separately for a while?” Jaskier asked, clearly striving for consideration and falling short. Geralt could hear the hurt there, and hated himself for being the cause of it.

“No,” he replied. “I’ll go to the alderman, get a contract, kill a monster. I’ll tell you about it when I get back, and you can write a song. Nothing’s different.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and nodded. He carefully laid his hand on the bed between them, but Geralt didn’t touch it. After a minute Jaskier took it away again.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured.

“Don’t apologize to me, my dear.”

Geralt watched Jaskier faking sleep for a long time. When he finally closed his own eyes, sleep came for him quickly, dragging him down deep.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning they tiptoed around each other like the floor was made of glass, unnaturally courteous. Geralt was glad their room was spacious; he was able to keep from making too much eye contact that way. He pulled on his armor one piece at a time, the same way he did every day, only this time Jaskier didn’t insist on helping, and Geralt told himself that he was relieved.

Jaskier grimaced as he sat down at the desk with his papers and quills. “You’re right, it hurts so much worse today,” he said wryly, stretching to work out the stiffness in his back.

For the life of him, Geralt couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response, so he just slipped quietly out the door.

The alderman was a tall man with thinning hair and the face of someone who rarely smiled, and probably when he did it was at the expense of someone else. He stared past Geralt instead of at him, his lip curled distastefully. Geralt was used to that kind of treatment, so it didn’t faze him overly much.

“Some kind of monster,” he stated without preamble, sipping his morning tea and not offering any to Geralt. “In the swamp just outside town. Seems to enjoy eating the intestines of peasants. Half a dozen have fallen victim in the last month alone.”

“Bloedzuiger,” Geralt said immediately.

The alderman waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not interested in what it’s called or where it came from. Kill it and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How much is my while worth to you?”

The alderman named a price that was just high enough that Geralt didn’t quite trust it. His skepticism must have shown on his face because the alderman said, “Others have tried to kill it and failed. I’ll want proof of death, you understand. No proof and the deal is off, and no advance payment.”

“Fine. Any more details about it?”

“Large and hideous.”

“Lots of things answer to that description. Where does it live? Is there more than one?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” the alderman said, sounding simultaneously bored and disgusted. “I’m certain there are any number of unwashed urchins outside who would be happy to show you where it lives for a flash of a coin.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, and left. He located a group of children who were eyeing his money purse with interest as they played near a fountain, and was able to get a general location out of them. He made his way back to the inn, mentally preparing for the hunt.

Jaskier had one hand pushed into his hair and a quill dangling from the other, and was staring at a blank sheet of paper when Geralt returned. The look Jaskier gave him was miles away, caught in some foreign space between head and heart, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Don’t injure yourself,” Geralt said, closing the door behind him.

Jaskier smiled a little, and Geralt returned it hesitantly. “The words won’t flow.”

“You should get out, walk around some. Might help.”

“You may be right,” Jaskier said with a sigh. “Did you have any luck?”

“I’m off to slay a bloedzuiger. Should be back by dinner.”

“Are you certain you don’t need my help?” Jaskier looked almost wistful.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, fine. I doubt the power of song would help you against a bloedzuiger.”

“Or any other monster,” Geralt pointed out, strapping his swords to his back.

Jaskier studiously ignored that comment. “I’m planning on going to market later, would you like anything?”

“Supplies are low. If you find the apothecary, I need a few things.” Geralt took the quill from Jaskier’s fingers and scrawled a list onto the blank paper before him.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “You could have asked for scrap. These sheets do not come cheap, Geralt.”

He shrugged. “Just use the other side.”

“I was planning on using both. Ah, never mind. I’ll get you what you need.”

Geralt nodded and dropped a few coins on the desk, then turned back to his potions kit on the table. He sorted through them until he located a vial of Bindweed and a couple of other essentials, as well as some insectoid oil for his sword, then tucked them into his leather satchel. He caught Jaskier watching him.

“You’re not taking your whole kit?”

Geralt shook his head, then gathered a few more potions for good measure, mostly to appease Jaskier. “I’m leaving Roach here, she’ll be a liability in the swamp. Check on her around lunchtime, would you?”

“Of course, I’ll poke my head into the stable after I go out shopping. I promised Pegasus a carrot, and I wouldn’t dream of neglecting my dearest girl.”

“Are you sure about the name? Literally anything would be better,” Geralt said with a grimace.

“Anything except ‘Geralt?’” Jaskier’s eyes were twinkling just a little, and something twisted in Geralt’s gut.

“Obviously.”

Jaskier held his gaze for long enough that Geralt felt uncomfortable. He turned his attention to putting on his leather gloves instead, then pulled the strap of his satchel over his head.

“Be careful,” Jaskier said quietly.

“I’ve been killing bloedzuigers since before you were born. Nothing is different about today.” He moved to the door, and Jaskier cleared his throat.

“I…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically lost for words. “Still, though. Be careful.”

Geralt looked over his shoulder at Jaskier and caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that could have been longing, had Geralt not just learned better. So he just nodded at Jaskier and left, waiting until he was outside and walking in the direction of the swamp before he clenched his fists hard enough to hear the leather creak.

~*~

“Geralt? Geralt!”

It was unmistakably Jaskier’s voice cutting through the heavy fog, echoing in Geralt’s ears as he stumbled through the swamp toward what he’d been reasonably certain was the town. He braced against a tree and held a flash of Igni in his hand, lighting the way for Jaskier. “Here,” he called.

“Geralt, you godsdamned idiot Witcher, thank fuck,” Jaskier yelled, appearing through the thick haze and flinging himself off the back of Pegasus, who glowed in the night like a small moon. Jaskier caught Geralt by the arms, pressing him back against the tree as he frantically searched for wounds.

“Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“I’m not bleeding, Jaskier. Bloedzuiger caught me in the leg with its acid, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all, _that’s all_ he says. Did you forget to drink your potions?”

“I drank them. Could have been worse.”

Jaskier leaned down to look at his leg but groaned in dismay. “I can’t see a fucking thing out here.”

“I’ve already wrapped it, it’s fine." It wasn't fine, but he wasn't about to tell Jaskier that while in the middle of a swamp. "What are you doing here?”

“You said dinnertime, and it’s well past. We were worried, and rightly so.”

“Who is ‘we?’”

“Well, Roach and I, obviously. Pegasus is indifferent.” Jaskier sounded like he was calming down.

“You shouldn’t have come, you could have been killed. Pegasus could have snapped a leg. What if the bloedzuiger had killed me instead, and it found you next?”

Jaskier’s face was pale in the dark. “Worth the risk.”

“Now who’s the godsdamned idiot?” Geralt asked, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s. He smelled dusty-sweet and familiar, a beacon for Geralt’s weary senses.

“Well, we’re both idiots, how’s that? Now get on my horse and let’s leave this wretched place.”

Pegasus danced nervously at the end of his reins when Geralt approached him, probably reacting to the scent of blood and acid, but he settled when Jaskier shushed him. Geralt swung into the saddle with his good leg and held a hand down for Jaskier, who shook his head.

“I’ll lead us out,” he said, tugging on Pegasus, whose hooves sucked at the mud beneath them. Geralt wove his fingers into Pegasus’ white mane and held on.

Eventually they came to the edge of the swamp where it butted up against the main road, and together they rode back to the inn. Silence had fallen between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Jaskier’s arms wrapped around his waist in a tense grip, and it felt normal, pain and monster guts and all.

Roach tossed her head and whuffled when she saw Geralt, and he hobbled over to rub between her ears. Jaskier roused the dozing stableboy and enlisted his help in washing the muck from Pegasus’s legs and checking his hooves. Jaskier tried to send Geralt into the inn ahead of him, but Geralt refused.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said, sitting awkwardly on a stool and watching Jaskier carefully tend to his horse like he’d seen Geralt do for Roach thousands of times. There was a warmth in his chest that surprised him, as he saw that no matter how worried Jaskier was about Geralt, he knew that his horse needed tending first. Geralt would have done the same.

He hung his arm over Jaskier’s shoulders and allowed himself to be helped to their room, because it was easier than trying to convince Jaskier that he could walk. His leg burned fiercely, and he was glad of the help, though he wouldn’t say it. Jaskier sat him on the edge of the bed and lit a candle, then patiently removed his armor for him.

“You’ll have to share the details of this hunt with me, so that I can best write the epic tale of how a heroic bard saved his Witcher,” Jaskier said, a smile playing around his mouth as he knelt to pull off Geralt’s mud-caked boots.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He tried to hide his reaction when Jaskier gingerly unwrapped the hasty bandage on Geralt’s calf, but no amount of tenderness on Jaskier’s part could have prevented the wave of pain that crested when air hit his raw flesh.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, looking up from the wound and searching Geralt’s face. “Tell me what to do.”

“Help me get this off,” he said, standing with his weight on his good leg and indicating his partially acid-dissolved breeches.

With the part of his brain not dedicated to ignoring his pain, Geralt was aware of Jaskier’s hands on his bare thighs, not sure if he imagined them lingering. He couldn’t focus on the implications either way, he only knew that his fingers were cool and he wanted them to stay.

Jaskier dumped the breeches into the pile of armor and turned back with apprehension. "Should I be wearing gloves? Is there still acid everywhere?" 

"No, I washed everything already before I wrapped it." 

"You washed it. In swamp water." 

"No, in a fresh fucking spring, Jaskier," he snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. Do we have wine?" 

Jaskier followed the non sequitur and brought him a half empty bottle of something red. He couldn't have cared less about the vintage, and barely tasted it as it went down. 

"Will that help?" 

"It's a start."

"Alright, let me wash you off with something cleaner than a swamp. You're filthy and you're ruining our fine rug." 

"My apologies to the rug." 

"Apologize to the bed too, while you're at it." 

Geralt looked down at the streaks of dirt on the quilt underneath his clutching hands. Jaskier brought over a bowl of water from the wash stand and some clean towels. 

"I imagine this is going to hurt like fuck," Jaskier said, wincing preemptively. "Do you want something to bite on?" 

Geralt smirked a little, though it was strained. "It's not that bad, and it's already healing. Without the Bindweed it really would have been worse." 

"How much worse?" 

"I still have my leg." 

Jaskier shuddered and touched Geralt’s calf where the skin wasn't horribly burned. "Small blessings," he murmured, and began to clean the wound. 

Geralt gritted his teeth and didn't make a sound, reminding himself that he'd suffered far greater injuries than this one. He focused on Jaskier's dark head bent over his outstretched leg, his hair falling smooth and straight. His hands were steady and cool. 

"There's salve in a blue jar in my pack," he directed, and Jaskier spread it carefully over the wound, then wrapped his calf in clean strips of linen. Once that was done Geralt could take some deep breaths, feeling the salve already beginning to numb and help heal. It would scar, but considering Geralt’s large collection of scars, he didn’t have the energy or inclination to care about that.

"Thank you," Geralt said, and Jaskier nodded, then took his hand. Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest, and Jaskier looked at their joined hands for a moment, then washed the mud from his fingers. He repeated it with the other hand, then his forearms, dabbing away any lingering signs of the swamp.

"Lift," Jaskier murmured, and pulled the shirt over Geralt’s head, leaving him only in smallclothes. He washed away mud that had streaked his neck and collarbone, then gently and slowly ran the cloth over Geralt’s cheek. Geralt caught his hand in a tense grip, and Jaskier raised his eyes, blue and burning. 

"You said--" 

"I know what I said," Jaskier replied, and kissed him. It wasn't frantic, it was soft and desperate. He slid his tongue over Geralt’s lower lip and choked off a whimper when Geralt automatically opened his mouth, meeting him halfway. Jaskier dropped the towel he was still holding and gripped Geralt’s naked thighs, sliding inward with his thumbs and catching Geralt’s groan in his mouth. 

Geralt slid his fingers through Jaskier’s hair as he’d longed to do, and the dark strands slipped free like water, impossible to hold. Jaskier’s mouth was plush and warm against his, and Geralt chased it when Jaskier pulled away, gasping for breath. Jaskier’s fingers pushed higher, beneath the edge of Geralt’s smallclothes, and Geralt strained against the cloth when Jaskier bracketed his hardening cock with searching thumbs.

“This changes us,” Geralt growled, bucking into Jaskier’s hands. Fire spread from each point their bodies touched, sparks lighting up Geralt’s spine.

“Worth the risk,” Jaskier said, too solemn for what his hands were doing, an odd match. Geralt couldn’t ask about it because Jaskier had leaned in to bite Geralt’s throat, then across his collarbone, licking down his chest and stomach while his fingers nimbly unfastened Geralt’s smallclothes. Jaskier pushed him backwards and Geralt caught himself on his elbows, then Jaskier’s mouth was suddenly surrounding Geralt’s cock in searing heat and slick softness. Geralt’s normally slow heart picked up speed, his head was dizzy with shock.

“Jaskier,” he rasped, and Jaskier moaned around his cock. He splayed a hand over Geralt’s stomach, dragging his fingertips over hard muscle and keeping Geralt pinned, as though he’d have tried to get away. His tongue’s slow swirl around the head of Geralt’s cock made Geralt hiss and writhe. Jaskier didn’t let up, anchoring himself there with perfect suction and motion, until Geralt pulled him off with shaking hands.

“Is this--?” Jaskier asked, his breath ragged.

“Yes,” Geralt said fervently.

“Then why’d you stop me?” He licked his swollen lips and Geralt couldn’t help but rub his thumb across that bottom lip, slick and red. 

“I want,” Geralt said, trying to gather his thoughts while Jaskier flicked his tongue across Geralt’s thumb, “more. I want more than that.”

“We’ll get there. Are you in a rush?”

Geralt shook his head. He pressed against the slow bite of Jaskier’s teeth. “I’m not in a rush.”

“Then let’s make it last, shall we? Something to remember when we’re old.” Jaskier hesitated, then kissed the inside of Geralt’s wrist. “I promise not to write a song about it.”

Geralt huffed a little laugh, even as he tried to harden his heart against everything Jaskier wasn’t saying. “Alright. Make it last.”

Jaskier’s smile had an air of tragedy about it, but also a gleam of determination, and Geralt thought that only Jaskier could possibly have emoted all those things at the same time. He shifted on his knees between Geralt’s legs, sinking down in supplication once more.

“Now, will you let me continue? Or should we discuss it some more? I know how much you love to talk.”

“By all means,” Geralt replied, leaning back on his elbows to watch.

This time Geralt relaxed into the awareness of Jaskier’s mouth around him, quieting the small voice in his head that whispered that if Jaskier only wanted this once then Geralt wouldn’t waste it with worry. Jaskier made it easy to forget, for Geralt to get lost in the heat of his mouth, the worshipful strokes of his tongue, then the tightness of his throat. Geralt gritted his teeth and dropped his head back, trying not to thrust, and Jaskier’s fingers twitched on his thighs as he took him deep. This time when Geralt slid his fingers into Jaskier’s hair and guided him off, Jaskier let him.

“No more,” Geralt said, rubbing the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw with his thumb. “I don’t want to finish yet.”

Jaskier nodded and smiled, dazed and panting. “Neither do I.” His voice was raspy as he palmed his own cock through his trousers and shuddered visibly.

“Come here,” Geralt said, tugging until Jaskier had to twist to the side to avoid falling.

“Your leg,” Jaskier explained in between kisses.

“I can’t feel it.”

“You’ll feel it if I accidentally step on it.”

Geralt growled, letting go, and Jaskier motioned for him to sit up against the headboard with his leg out of the way. Jaskier helped him out of his smallclothes and he settled back with empty hands clenching on nothing. If this was to be the only time he got to have Jaskier, he would have preferred it differently.

“I can’t undress you,” Geralt said.

“Luckily, I’ve been doing it my whole life,” Jaskier replied, slipping out of his doublet and shirt.

“I meant--I don’t want to lie here and wait. To have you do all the work.”

Jaskier arched an eyebrow as he removed his boots. “Then make your hands useful while I’m busy.”

Geralt’s hand on his own cock felt familiar, but the frisson he got from Jaskier watching him was definitely new. He teased himself with too-light touches, stroking slowly while Jaskier’s blue eyes darkened. Trousers and smallclothes dropped to the floor, and Jaskier climbed onto the bed to carefully straddle Geralt’s lap. The first touch of skin on skin, when Jaskier finally lowered himself down, was like the flare of a candle in a dark room.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, abandoning his own body in favor of getting his hands on Jaskier’s. He skated his palms over his strong thighs, the notches of his hips, his chest with soft dark hair that Geralt had often seen but never touched. His full cock was pretty and flushed pink, hot and hard against Geralt’s skin.

“Ah, Witcher,” Jaskier murmured, rolling his hips slowly against Geralt’s as he settled his weight into place. “You were worth the wait.”

Geralt swallowed hard, biting back so many words, more than he’d ever wanted to say before. His mind was a flood, overwhelming the pleasure until he shoved it all down again and dragged Jaskier in to take his mouth in short, sharp kisses. Jaskier opened to him like a flower in the sun, yielding and warm.

“How do you want me?” Jaskier asked, grinding against him in motions so small it felt like the vibration of his medallion sensing magic. “Like this?” He took their cocks in his hands, silken hardness sliding together. “Or like this?” He shuffled forward until he straddled Geralt high on his waist, Geralt’s cock bumping up between Jaskier’s cheeks.

Geralt growled and dug his fingers into Jaskier’s hips to hold him still.

Jaskier smiled. “That’s what I thought. Just give me a moment.”

He climbed off the bed and dug through his pack, returning a moment later with a small bottle of oil. They shared the oil between them and Jaskier slowly opened himself up while Geralt fisted Jaskier’s cock in time with his fingers’ thrusts. The look of reined in desperation on Jaskier’s face was a thing of such beauty that it hurt to look at it, and yet he couldn’t look away. Jaskier bit his lip and moaned, and Geralt’s cock pulsed in sympathy.

“Beautiful,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier grimaced, faltering.

“Don’t, please,” he whispered, and leaned down to kiss Geralt hard, pulling out his fingers and knocking Geralt’s hand out of the way. “Please just do what you do best and don’t talk.”

Before Geralt knew what was happening Jaskier had lined himself up and was taking him in, an inch at a time. He was so tight that Geralt knew he hadn’t opened himself enough, but Jaskier’s face was hardened with determination. Geralt didn’t like that look on the face of one who was usually so soft, so he paused him with hands on Jaskier’s thighs.

“If you really want this, then go easy,” he urged him, beginning to worry that he’d misunderstood something. He stroked Jaskier’s thighs to soothe him, and Jaskier let out a long breath, relaxing. He sank down a little further, gravity taking him, and Geralt swore softly.

“I shouldn’t tell you how much I want this,” Jaskier confessed in a whisper, touching Geralt’s face tenderly, sweeping back wayward strands of his hair.

“Why not?”

He shook his head slowly. His body accepted another inch and his breath hitched.

Geralt frowned, hooking his thumbs alongside Jaskier’s hip bones. “What do you really want? Tell me the truth.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and shuddered, his thighs trembling. “I want you. For more than just tonight.”

Geralt’s fingers tightened on Jaskier’s hips, digging in reflexively. “But that’s what I want too.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open, shocked and wide. For a long moment he just stared at Geralt. Distraction brought him all the way down until their bodies were flush together, but neither reacted to it.

Geralt shrugged helplessly, cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands. “I thought you only wanted one night.”

“I thought the same. You mean, all this time--” he gasped, shaking his head. “Fuck. We’re idiots.”

Geralt sat up to kiss him, ignoring the fact that he was buried as deep as he could be inside Jaskier, because a kiss was more important. “At last we agree on something.”

Jaskier sighed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Geralt,” he said, his voice dropping into that dulcet tone Geralt loved, “There are things I need to say to you, but I have to move. Can I?”

Geralt nodded, and the first stuttering rock of Jaskier’s hips sent sparks dancing across the base of Geralt’s spine. He let Jaskier find a gentle rhythm, and though the odd tension between them had vanished, the desperation was still driving them together.

“Gods,” Jaskier murmured, threading his hands into Geralt’s hair and gripping gently, “can I keep you?”

“Please,” Geralt gasped when Jaskier tugged his hair, his cock twitching inside Jaskier, whose eyes widened.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Jaskier moaned, rising and falling faster on Geralt’s cock. “You’re so good, Geralt.”

Geralt groaned, his face flushing with the praise. He started to shift positions and his leg suddenly reminded him of his injury with a bright flare of pain. He hissed and Jaskier reacted immediately, freezing in place.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Geralt growled. “I can barely feel it.”

“Geralt--”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “I don’t care about my leg. I just wish…”

“What?”

“If I could I’d pull you under me and fuck you until you can’t speak, until the only thing you know is my name.”

Jaskier shivered and kissed him, his tongue twisting around Geralt’s. He pulled back and his eyes were dark with only a thin ring of blue. “You finally speak, and it’s to say things that wreck me. When you’re healed, I’ll let you do that. Anything you can dream of.” He took Geralt’s hand and wrapped it around his cock, thrusting gently in their combined grip, and the expression on his face was of absolute surrender.

Words came to Geralt then, words like _you’re precious to me_ and _don’t ever leave_ , but they caught behind his teeth and all he could do was tighten his grip and kiss Jaskier when his back curved like a bow so he could find Geralt’s mouth again. Geralt tried to push the words out with his tongue against Jaskier’s, and hoped that he knew anyway, or that he’d be patient until Geralt could say them aloud.

Their rhythm faltered and Jaskier whimpered into Geralt’s mouth, pulling away to arch back so that Geralt could shift into the perfect place inside him. Geralt knew he’d found it when Jaskier’s mouth dropped open and he went rigid, not breathing, rocking stiffly. He came in short bursts onto Geralt’s stomach and chest, and at the hot splash Geralt gritted his teeth and thrust as deep as he could into Jaskier’s body and came in long pulses that went on for what felt like endless heartbeats. Jaskier moaned and slumped forward, boneless, catching himself with palms braced on Geralt’s shoulders.

“Gods,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pulled him close, heedless of the mess between them. His heart still beat heavy in his chest, and he was breathing like he’d been fighting monsters. Jaskier sank against him, pure and trusting. Geralt’s cock slipped from his body and the disconnect felt like an ache, like an injury.

“You really want this?” Jaskier asked, his face tucked against Geralt’s neck. Geralt tightened his arms and tilted his head back to better feel Jaskier’s breath on his throat.

“I do.”

Jaskier trembled and his hands curled against Geralt’s biceps. “Oh, the songs I could write you,” he whispered. “Only for you.”

Geralt closed his eyes and ran his hand over Jaskier’s hair. “Why tonight? Why now?”

Jaskier sighed, a wash of warmth. “You didn’t come back. All I could think was that if you were dead the last thing you had heard from me was a lie. You needed to know that I truly do want you, and no matter how briefly you wanted it, I would give you all of me.”

“Why did you think I only wanted--”

“Because you never looked at me before, you were never interested. We were talking about the bathhouse, and then you were kissing me, and I thought you just suddenly wanted to try it out. I felt too deeply to risk everything on a quick dalliance.”

“But you did anyway.”

“I’d rather have had you once than never.”

Geralt pulled him back to look him in the eye. He thought he’d seen every facet of Jaskier over the years they’d known each other, but he’d never seen this kind of transparency of soul, like Jaskier had opened his heart and laid it beating and bleeding in Geralt’s hands. Geralt smoothed the dark fall of hair from his eyes, touched the high rise of his cheekbones, his wide jaw, his full mouth kiss reddened and unsmiling.

“I’d rather have you a thousand times than once,” Geralt said, an offering of his own heart. He felt foolish, unskilled, and the words weighed heavy on his tongue, but they were true. “And I did look at you. I’ve been looking at you for years, and then looking away. I’m...not good for you. This life isn’t good for you. But I’m selfish, I want you anyway.”

“I’ll be the judge of what is good for me, thank you very much,” Jaskier said, and his smile returned like a sunrise, brightening the whole room. He found Geralt’s mouth and rested a kiss there, a gentle thing that demanded nothing.

“Now,” Jaskier said firmly, sitting up and grimacing, “before another moment goes by we need to clean up. I’d happily be stuck to you all night, but not like this.”

He carefully extricated himself from Geralt’s arms and wobbled over to the pitcher of water at the washstand. He came back with a clean, wet towel and washed them both, then dropped the cloth to the floor.

“What?” he asked when Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Look at this place, we’ll have to pay extra for the clean up anyway.”

He went to the table and picked up a platter of food that Geralt hadn’t noticed before, and Geralt admired his naked form as he walked, lithe and still flushed from pleasure.

“I assume you’re hungry,” he said, and placed the platter on the bed next to Geralt. Jaskier sat on the edge and offered him a bite of cold ham. “You’re always hungry anyway, and you’ve had a big day. I’d offer you some wine but someone drank it all.”

Geralt gratefully shared the meal with Jaskier, who watched him with hazy, contemplative eyes. “You’re thinking an awful lot,” Geralt said, setting down a piece of bread and catching Jaskier’s hand. “And you’re not talking. Very odd for you.”

Jaskier smiled. “Is that a complaint, or praise?”

“A little of both?” Geralt kissed Jaskier’s fingertips, and liked how it made his eyes darken.

“I’m just composing,” he answered while Geralt nibbled on his littlest finger, and his voice shook a bit. “Not about us, exactly. But you are definitely inspiring, dear muse.”

“Hmm.” Geralt mouthed at his wrist, scraping his teeth delicately across blue veins.

Jaskier moaned. “How’s your leg?” he asked breathlessly, his fingers curling into a fist.

“What leg?” He looked up at Jaskier through his lashes and watched him shiver all over.

“Good answer,” Jaskier said, and took his arm back in order to move the platter of food to the floor. He lay down beside Geralt and faced him the way he always had before, close enough to whisper but not touching.

“Let me try…” Geralt said, biting his lip as he carefully turned on his side, and his leg barely twinged. “It’s better. Truly. As long as I’m careful.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shakily. He touched Geralt’s lips, tracing them slowly, then trailed his fingers down his neck and chest, pausing at collarbone and nipple, dipping into his navel, catching on scars. Geralt’s cock was half hard again, and Jaskier stroked his finger lightly across the tip. Geralt growled softly.

“Do you know,” Jaskier murmured, “that when we would lay together like this I’d imagine what it would be like if you just leaned in and kissed me. How it would feel.”

Geralt touched his shoulder, ran his fingers down Jaskier’s arm, then bridged the gap and kissed him. Jaskier shuddered and opened his mouth, allowing Geralt inside, licking delicately against his tongue.

“Is this what you imagined?” Geralt asked between kisses, barely touching Jaskier except for where their mouths met.

“Yes,” Jaskier gasped, and the candle on the bedside table guttered in its holder, plunging the room into darkness. His lips were like velvet dragging on Geralt’s as he murmured, “I can’t see you.”

The scent of smoke and beeswax filled the air and Geralt tucked his face into Jaskier’s throat, breathing in the sweet scent of him instead. “Do you need to?” He suckled at the thin skin there, worrying it with his teeth.

Jaskier tipped his head back and grasped blindly at Geralt. “No,” he moaned, his whole body shuddering.

“Can you take me again?” Geralt whispered against his skin, running his palm down Jaskier’s hip and the curve of his ass. He could feel Jaskier’s pulse start pounding against his mouth, and licked over it.

“Only one way to find out,” Jaskier laughed breathlessly, clutching Geralt’s shoulder. He started to push Geralt onto his back again but Geralt stopped him.

“This way,” he said. “Turn over, and come here.”

Jaskier shifted until his back was to Geralt’s front, and he said, “Ah, yes, I like where this is going.”

Geralt smirked against his shoulder. “Hand me the oil.”

“I can’t see anything, Geralt.”

“It’s a good thing I have long arms, then,” he said, and ignored Jaskier’s squawk when he reached over him to the bedside table, pressing him into the mattress. He slicked his fingers and corked the bottle again, dropping it next to Jaskier. “Hang on to that, please.”

“Was it hard for you to say ‘please?’ I know you don’t have a lot of experience with that word,” Jaskier said drily, then his breath hitched and his body tensed when Geralt slipped his fingers between Jaskier’s cheeks and gently tested for soreness.

“Too much?”

Jaskier shook his head, gasping when Geralt pressed with two fingers and slid inside easily. “I can take more.”

Geralt added a third finger and Jaskier rocked back into the touch, his breath coming faster. He felt like silk inside, warm like standing too near a fire, perfect. He teased Jaskier until he was panting and clutching at the sheet beneath him, then he pulled his hand away. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Jaskier moaned, shoving the bottle of oil back towards Geralt, who used it and set it aside.

Geralt put a hand on Jaskier’s hip and maneuvered him where he wanted, until the angle was just right, then he was sliding inside so easily with barely any resistance at all, and Jaskier sighed out a long breath.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he had the presence of mind to warn Geralt.

“Hmm. I was going to say that to you.”

“I’m good,” Jaskier said on a little laugh, “I’m so good right now, Geralt.”

Geralt shifted into a rhythm so unhurried and infinitesimal it could barely be called a rhythm, like the push and pull of a lake’s tide, like a Witcher’s heartbeat. Jaskier fought him for a minute, but eventually accepted that he had no leverage or control so he relaxed and let it happen. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s back, skipping slowly over the knobs of his spine, feeling Jaskier arch like a cat under the touch. He took the time to learn Jaskier’s body, the places where time and sun never reached, the silken curved notches of his ribs where Geralt’s fingers could cling.

He cupped Jaskier’s cock, giving him pressure but not motion, and Jaskier whined at the denial. “Geralt, please,” he said, fine tremors running through his body. Geralt nudged just a little deeper, thrusting just a little harder, and Jaskier arched against him with a groan. “More, Geralt, like that.”

“I like you this way. All your fancy words forgotten, just my name left.”

Jaskier laughed, and it was low and sweet and breathless. Geralt reached over him to interlace their fingers, and Jaskier held on tight. “I want you more than all the fancy words in all the fancy books I’ve ever read.”

Geralt knew a declaration of love when he heard one, and the breath left him like he’d been punched. Pleasure burned at the base of his spine, a growing ball of sunlight under his skin eclipsing every other sense except the visceral knowledge of Jaskier beside him and surrounding him. “Jas,” he said, groaning, and Jaskier’s fingers flexed between his, then Jaskier was tightening sweetly around his cock and coming, softly moaning. Geralt followed him inexorably, pulled by Jaskier’s tide, pulsing as deep as he could reach into Jaskier’s body while they both trembled.

Jaskier leaned back to rest his weight on Geralt, breathing deep and slow as though in sleep. He still had Geralt’s hand in his, and he tucked it against his chest. “I…” he said, and then didn’t speak again.

“Yeah,” Geralt replied, ducking his head to press a kiss to Jaskier’s nape where his skin was fine and soft. Jaskier reacted by clenching gently around Geralt’s cock, and Geralt groaned.

“I’d have you stay,” Jaskier whispered, but much too soon Geralt slipped out.

“Get the cloth,” Geralt said, and Jaskier fumbled over the side of the bed until he found it, and together they cleaned up as best they could.

“We need a real bath. Do you suppose we’ll both fit in that tub?”

Geralt smiled, imagining it. “I wouldn’t mind trying. Tomorrow morning, first thing.”

Jaskier rolled over and faced him. Geralt could see him dimly, but Jaskier felt for him like a blind man, ghosting over Geralt’s face with careful fingertips. “Hello,” he said.

Geralt’s heart stuttered. “Hello.”

He tucked himself against Geralt’s side, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “I still don’t quite believe it,” he said quietly. “That you won’t tell me you’ve had enough.”

“I won’t tell you that.”

“Tomorrow you’ll still be here?”

He sounded so tentative, so hopeful, that Geralt could only gather him close and hold on to his delicate strength, his limbs that trembled in time with his great beating heart. “Not going anywhere.”

Jaskier let out a long sigh and went boneless, a perfect weight. Geralt stayed awake for a long time, his blood still singing softly.

~*~

“Alright, it’s my turn to ask you,” Jaskier said as he worked the soap between Geralt’s fingers and pressed hard with his thumbs into Geralt’s palms, making him growl low with satisfaction. They would not, sadly, fit in the tub together, but Jaskier took it upon himself to bathe Geralt, while he propped his leg on the rim to keep his wound dry. Geralt felt ridiculous, splayed out like that while Jaskier pampered him, but Jaskier wasn’t laughing so he decided he shouldn’t worry about it.

“Ask me what?” Geralt leaned his head back and watched Jaskier with half-lidded eyes.

“Why now?”

Geralt sighed. “It was the horse.”

“Pegasus made you declare your undying love for me?”

“I never declared anything.” His denial was ruined by the ghost of a smile he couldn’t quite hide.

“Rude. Anyway, what’s my horse got to do with this?” Jaskier moved on to massaging his other hand, and Geralt felt a release of tension he hadn’t been aware he was holding. It loosened his tongue and brought feelings to the surface that he thought he’d buried too deep to acknowledge.

“It was your smile, when I gave him to you. I’d missed it while you were away, and then you smiled at me next to that horse--”

“ _Pegasus_.”

“--and it was. It was. What home feels like.”

Jaskier kissed his wet fingertips and knuckles, tangling their hands together. For a moment they just sat there, Jaskier’s forehead pressed against their hands, and then Jaskier sniffed and continued his ministrations. “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “That’s alright then.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Jaskier said, and smiled. It was a little watery, a little tremulous, but it brightened the room all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always so very welcome! I'm tossing around the idea of a sequel to this, so we'll see!


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